Green Eyed Monsters
by Jade4813
Summary: I was asked to write a story in the New 52 'verse, so while I ponder my next chapter of my ongoing epic, I thought I'd give it a shot! This story will be in several parts, each from a different person's perspective. It is set in the New 52 current continuity, so there's Lois/Jon, Clark/Diana with implications of Lois/Clark.


**A/N: **I had a couple requests to write something in the New 52 universe, so while I try to work out some issues in my ongoing fic, I thought I'd give it a shot! I'm actually trying something new with this one - first person, present-tense perspective, which I'd never used before. Yeesh! I'm also trying to get a handle on Diana's character as this story moves on, since I've never felt that I really had a feel for her character. It's a work in progress! Enjoy!

**Green Eyed Monsters**

I hate Diana Prince.

Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. I don't really hate her, most of the time. Okay, much of the time. Or some of the time. Whatever; the point is, right now, in this moment, I hate her about as much as it's possible to hate a woman I don't know very well, who seems to make my best friend pretty happy.

Let me tell you, that's a lot.

It doesn't help that construction in downtown Metropolis meant I had to park my car more than eight blocks away from the front doors to the _Daily Planet_ when I returned from a morning appointment. And, of course, the moment I got out of my car, a deluge of near biblical proportions opened up overhead. My umbrella was destroyed by the wind two blocks later. So I admit, I was already in a pretty bad mood when I finally made it to my desk, dripping wet and looking like something the cat dragged in.

Then I looked up and I saw her, her arms around Clark's waist as they stood by his desk. I should have been happy to see the smile on his face (a rare visitor as of late, it seemed), but instead, I saw how she was almost as wet as I was, but instead of looking bedraggled – like I did – she looked like she just stepped off the front pages of _Sports Illustrated_'s swimsuit edition. If anything, the rain just made her look even _more_ beautiful (something that really shouldn't be humanly possible), and I just…

I hate her.

However, since glowering at Diana isn't doing anything to help improve either my mood or my condition, I might as well go to the restroom to dry off in the hopes that my unnatural hatred of Clark's girlfriend would evaporate along with the cold water dripping from my hair onto the carpet. After some time – and more than a few paper towels –I finally manage to at least stop the dripping and steel myself enough to look in the mirror to see what damage can be repaired.

My damp clothes are cold against my skin, causing me to shiver as I lean forward to take in my appearance. My hair is frazzled from being rubbed briskly between handfuls of paper towels. My skin is unnaturally pale from the cold rain, and while I'm glad that not to be a heavy makeup kind of girl (no messy mascara smudges on a day like today), my damp features are hardly going to compare with Diana's flawless beauty.

Not that I'm trying to compete with Diana. This isn't a competition! Clark is my best friend, her boyfriend. And why do I care what she looks like, anyway?

Still, I struggle with temptation to break out my makeup bag in an attempt to perform some magic to repair my appearance, but I forcibly shove that thought aside. So what if Diana Prince is in the newsroom; I'm not going to do anything I wouldn't normally do today. It would be like I was trying too hard, and I'd be damned if I did that for Clark – or for her, I quickly corrected myself.

After some minor repairs to my makeup and appearance, I twist my hair into a loose knot, jabbing a pencil from the bottom of my bag into it to hold it in place. Then I stand back and survey myself critically in the mirror. "Not bad, Lane. Not bad at all," I murmur approvingly. I'm not the type to spend all my time worrying about my appearance, but I'm also not the type for false modesty. I know I'm pretty. On most days, I was probably about a 6; when I put forth a little effort, I could hit at least an 8. Today, I'm more around a 4; I'd done what I could do to approve matters, but I still looked a little too much like a drowned kitten for my liking. Oh, well. Appearances aren't everything, and I have more important things to worry about.

My mood slightly improved, I leave the restroom and headed to the coffee maker, needing a jolt of caffeine before I go back to my desk. I'm just reaching for the sugar when I hear a long, low whistle behind me. Jimmy's standing over my shoulder, but I'm relieved – or maybe irritated – to see he isn't looking at me. (I admittedly would have been surprised if his whistle had been directed at me, since he had to know it would have gotten him flattened.)

"Man, oh man, Diana's here?" I hear Jimmy murmur in a low tone. "Why didn't you tell me?" He's so nervous, he's running his hand through his hair and trying to twitch his clothes into place, and I kind of want to smack him. It might remind him that I'm there – something he's clearly forgotten, because he continues, "I swear, she gets even more beautiful every time I see her!"

It's growing increasingly more difficult to ignore him, but I do my best as I stare at my coffee cup and try to wish him away. No such luck; he only moves closer. "Some guys have all the luck, huh?" he asks, apparently still rhetorically since he certainly isn't waiting for my response. "I mean, I like Clark; he's one of my best friends. But even I don't get how he landed a hottie like her. Not only is she the most beautiful woman in Metropolis," what am I, chopped liver? I wonder, "but she's smart, witty, funny, sexy…"

I hadn't noticed any discernable humor or wit at my party, but I hadn't spoken to her very long, either, before she and Clark disappeared together. Not that I'd noticed. Or cared. Then again, I'm not currently living with Clark like Jimmy is, and so he'd probably had a lot more opportunity to get to know Diana, since she probably spent a lot of time over at Clark's place.

Still, I don't want to hear anymore. I slam my spoon back onto the table, loud enough to get Jimmy's attention. Finally. "You know, I doubt Clark would be happy to hear you talk about his girlfriend that way," I don't mean to take my frustration out on Jimmy, but even I can hear that my voice so cold, ice crystals almost form in the air between us. "Clark's your friend. You should act like it."

I storm away, ignoring his spluttered apology, and try not to think about the fact that I had probably been out of line. After all, I'd spent the entire morning – at least since arriving at the Planet – thinking about how much I hated Clark's girlfriend. Who wasn't being a good friend to him now?

There's no excuse for it, I chastised myself. Why, it was almost like I was jealous! And I'm not! Why would I be jealous of Clark's girlfriend? Okay, so maybe there had been a time when I'd wondered if there couldn't be something between Clark and me. Maybe I still had the occasional moment when I had feelings for him that had nothing to do with friendship. But my feelings for him were, if not all, then at least _mostly_ in the past, and I had moved on. Nothing had ever come of my feelings, and if Clark had ever had similar thoughts about me, well, he'd never let on.

I'd put all of that behind me, that last time I almost kissed him, when we were _that close_ and then he left to check on some lead. The night I'd first met Jon. If Clark had been even remotely interested in what had been about to happen in that bar – or remorseful that the moment had been ruined – he'd never let on. And thank god he was so oblivious. After all, it was less mortifying to accept his total disinterest in me when he was too oblivious to know that there had been a time when I'd been interested in him.

I shook my head, scowling in self-recrimination. I wasn't jealous because of Clark's feelings for Diana. I'm _not_ jealous. That would be ridiculous. If I was jealous about anything, it was the fact that even Jon had seemed to swallow his tongue, the first time he met Diana. And maybe it was unfair of me to be jealous about that – I'd almost done the same, the first time I laid eyes on her – but nobody said that jealousy had to be rational.

I duck my head when the thought occurs to me that maybe my jealousy came from the realization that, as attractive as I could be when I put my mind to it, I can't recall a single time anyone had swallowed their tongue, caught their breath, lost the power of speech when they laid eyes on me. Not even Jon. Certainly not Clark.

And what's the appeal in perfection, anyway? Perfection is boring.

Said the girl who's about as far from "perfection" as it's possible to get. Something that had never bothered me before – until Clark's girlfriend, Little Miss Perfect, first waltzed through my door.

I see Clark look over at me with a small smile, and I brace myself to be the bigger person. Keeping a death-grip on my coffee cup, I force a smile on my face and walk towards my best friend and his Barbie doll. _Girlfriend_, I correct myself, angry that I'm being churlish and it's beneath me.

"Hey, Clark," I say with genuine warmth and then attempt to follow it up in the same tone with, "Diana. It's good to see you again. You're looking…" _stunning_, "lovely."

"Thank you," Diana replies; if she's struggling with similar jealousy, it doesn't show. But of course she doesn't, because why would she? "It looks like we both got caught in the rain." Her smile is warm.

"Some worse than others," I say jokingly, because while we both got wet, only one of us suffered from the experience. "So, what are you doing here?" I ask, then add hastily, "Not that it's not great to see you." Just because I'm feeling irritable doesn't mean it has to show, and I owe Clark an honest attempt to like his girlfriend. Whatever else I may have once thought he could be, he's still my best friend.

"Diana and I were about to grab some lunch. You wanna come along?" Clark asks, offering me a hopeful smile. Lately, he hasn't been very subtle about wanting Diana and I to get to know each other better. Because that sounds about as much fun as shoving shards of glass under my fingernails – not that I can tell him that.

"Ah, well, I'd love to," I say reluctantly – I really should be more eager to get to know his girlfriend because I _have _moved on. "But Jon and I already made plans." As if on cue, the elevator doors open and I see him walk into the bullpen. I can't help but smile. Jon's a good man – he's everything I ever wanted in a guy, and being with him is just…easy. I know relationships take work, but not my relationship with him.

Sometimes I wonder if I really love him or if I just really want to. But I push that thought away before I can think about it too long.

"The more the merrier," Diana offers. "We can…double date?" She looks at Clark, as though asking him a silent question, and he smiles at her in response.

"Uh…sure," I respond, waving Jon over. The grin on his face when he sees me both warms and cheers me, and when he walks next to me and throws an arm around my waist, I lean against him, seeking comfort.

As expected, Jon is more than happy to join the others for lunch, and it's one of those rare times that I wish he wasn't so laid-back and friendly. If only he wasn't so genuinely interested in getting to know my friends, I could politely refuse the invitation. But since I can't, I focus my attention on my boyfriend as we walk to the elevators and discuss our various lunch options.

I'm almost in a good mood again, when the elevator doors open and Diana takes Clark's hand, moving closer to him, and then it's all I can do not to roll my eyes.

I really hate her.


End file.
